


Social Protocols

by the_last_dillards



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Age Difference, Espionage, Honeypotting, M/M, Not Beta Canon compliant, Obsidian Order, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23913415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_last_dillards/pseuds/the_last_dillards
Summary: Dukat finds out who his father has been seeing.
Relationships: Dukat's Father | Procal Dukat/Elim Garak
Comments: 12
Kudos: 63





	Social Protocols

**Author's Note:**

> Non beta’d and not beta canon compliant. 
> 
> Takes place in the 2340s. Skrain is Gul Dukat's canon first name and is primarily used here. Skrain's in his mid thirties, still a Glinn, and not yet Prefect. Garak is in his mid twenties and a hot young thing.

Skrain glared across the gala hall. There, making what had to be a fifth circuit of the room, was his father, regal, majestic, proud as ever. And accompanying him was Elim Garak, hanging off his arm like some social climbing whore. Every so often, they passed Skrain where he stood by the beverage table. Snippets of trivial argument drifted by. 

“I am well aware you endorsed it, Procal, but the beautification project along the Tarlak Sector is utterly unnecessary. Yes, perhaps it could have done with some maintenance—”

“ _More_ yamok sauce? Dear Procal, if you add any more, you might as well be drinking it from a cup!”

“The disruptor redesign was a waste of funds. Absolutely no improvements made.”

“Perhaps you’ve gone colorblind in your advancing age, Procal. It’s garish.”

And now, “You’re quite mistaken, my dear Procal, if you think the author ever intended for that to be interpreted as anything but an admission of guilt!”

It was disgusting. Blatant. And worst of all, horrendously public. Father had been the one to teach Skrain how improper such behavior was, and yet here Procal was now. Good manners undone by that wretch. 

He couldn’t believe Father would do this to him. 

When Procal had first announced that he would be bringing a _personal friend_ along, Skrain hadn’t put up a fight. It certainly wasn’t seemly to openly flaunt lower class flings around your social equals but it wasn’t unheard of among those with enough power and influence. And the Dukat family certainly had that.

There was even a part of Skrain that had been relieved. Ever since Mother had died, his father had been suffering. He moped about and made mistakes in his job which had caused the family great embarrassment. But recently, something had changed. It didn’t come as too much of a surprise when Procal had announced a new paramour. 

And then, of all people, it had turned out to be Garak. A Cardassian might believe in coincidences but they certainly don’t trust them. That Garak would intrude on his family this way filled Skrain with an angry sort of fear.

He had taken his father aside at the first chance to warn him. Garak might be pretending to be some service class boy looking for a leg up in the world, but he was an agent of the Obsidian Order and not to be trusted. 

Procal had laughed. And oh, how that had rankled Skrain! He was long past the age where crying was tolerated but even so, the urge burned hot behind his eyes.

Yes, Garak (or _Elim_ , as his father affectionately called him) was an Order agent. He had known that from the beginning. And seemingly, it did not bother him.

The story his father told was that the two had met at a prototype showing for a new class of military ship. Procal had been invited as Chief Tactician for the 2nd Order. Garak had shown up, unwanted as usual, as a representative for the Obsidian Order. Purely a ceremonial presence, of course. The Obsidian Order was barred from owning or handling military equipment.

So much of the prototype was nonfunctional that the event had turned out to be a rather dull affair. At some point, they had started up a conversation which led to something Skrain would not like to think about please, and now Garak, that vole, was being invited to events as part of the Dukat family party.

This was _awful_. If Father was publicly seeing a ranking Order member, then that implied courtship was in the wings. What if he decided a match with one of the sons of Tain was beneficial and proposed an enjoinment? Worse, what if Garak accepted? Skrain wouldn’t allow it!

A vision of a hoard of half siblings running around begotten by that vole flashed in Skrain’s head. He shuddered. At least he wouldn’t be expected to acknowledge Garak as his new parent, as was custom in some corners of the continent. He might have to throw himself out an airlock otherwise.

Skrain had tried to reason with his father. Just because Garak wasn’t hiding his identity didn’t mean there wasn’t some scheme here. It didn’t make this wise to pursue. But instead of giving his son’s words any consideration, Procal sobered up and firmly thanked Skrain for his concern before rejoining the gala. And that, Skrain knew, would be the last his father would hear from him on the matter.

Garak caught his eye as they passed by on yet another lap of the room. The bastard gave a benign smile, then turned back to Father with an exaggeratedly adoring gaze, still clutching at his arm and batting his eyelashes. Skrain caught one last stupid giggle before they were out of sight again.

What could Father ever see in that sycophant? It wasn’t as if Garak was even especially attractive. He was stout with an unexciting neck and flat ridges. And surely it wasn’t for his personality. Skrain had encountered him enough times in the past to know what sort of whining cur he was.

If he had just told his father about his past experiences with Garak and the Order, they wouldn’t be in this mess right now. But no, he had kept them to himself, worried that those embarrassing blunders would lower Father’s opinion of him. Which they very well may have. 

There was nothing Skrain craved more than his father’s pride.

Damned if he did. Damned if he didn’t.

Maybe what drew Procal was Garak’s status. It was a tempting prospect indeed to get a foothold within the Obsidian Order. Especially as an already powerful figure in Central Command. There were better choices for Father however. Political unions that would give a more sure grasp within Central Command or influence in the Civilian Council than keeping a spy in your own house.

Most likely, it was very simply Garak’s...unique set of skills. He was young—younger even than Skrain which made him vaguely uncomfortable for reasons related _solely_ to Garak’s lack of professional accomplishments and nothing else—but no doubt had more practice than most Bajoran comfort women. Skrain could smell a whore from a league away. Not that he needed to be that close to try catching a whiff of whatever Garak’s last victim was. 

Agents of the Obsidian Order were known for being rather loose. It came with the job, Skrain supposed. One had to be willing to spread their legs for all sorts of types in order to succeed in missions of blackmail and intelligence gathering. Hopefully, Father wouldn’t catch something.

Skrain had already learned that lesson the hard way. He’d spent a few nights with a comfort woman during his last tour on Bajor, and lucky him, a zoonotic virus had made the species jump right in their camp, infecting him and several other soldiers.

Poor Athra. They hadn’t known until a scan of her belly when she had been with her second clutch revealed that—

An annoying whine broke through Skrain’s thoughts. 

“Procal, surely you can’t be serious!”

The night’s most unfortunate couple was back. This time they were stopped at the beverage table, albeit at the other end from where Skrain was standing, half filled kanar glass in hand. His father didn’t seem to notice him. No, he was too absorbed in his little _pet._

The attendant refilled both of their glasses and moved on to serve other guests but the pair lingered. Procal stroked rather obscenely along one of Garak’s shoulders, receiving a demure look in return. Disgusting. And really, Garak was wearing such a highly inappropriate outfit for an event like this. They weren’t at a whore’s club after all. There was no reason to show that much shoulder ridge.

“But I am, dear boy,” his father was saying. 

“Why, it’s so scandalous! You ought to be more careful with a plan like that. There are those who might even view it as treason.”

Skrain finished off his sixth glass of the evening and gestured to the attendant for a refill.

**Author's Note:**

> Very loosely inspired by [this post](https://doujinshi.tumblr.com/post/164415342778/so-this-kid-he-used-to-bully-me-in-middle-school). 
> 
> 1 Kudo = 1 punch in the gut to Skrain Dukat.  
> 1 Comment = 1 sweet kiss to Elim Garak.


End file.
